


The President, the Former President, the Almost President and an Escort Eat Dinner Together

by fools_seldom_write



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - US 21st c., Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 06:50:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20774327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fools_seldom_write/pseuds/fools_seldom_write
Summary: What it says on the tin.





	The President, the Former President, the Almost President and an Escort Eat Dinner Together

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically part of a longer series, but you can understand it without the backstory.

It would be an understatement to say that Bill hadn't exactly been happy when Hillary told him about her plan to bring Trump. Actually, they had had a very long argument after that, which Hillary obviously won. Bill had to give in eventually, but not without a final comment. "The moment he says anything racist or sexist, he's out." And that was okay with Hillary, as it was the same thing she had already told Trump earlier.

  
The next problem was to find an evening when they were all free. As politicians, they all had pretty tight schedules, and Bill's girlfriend, who turned out to be a college student, didn't have that much free time either. Another problem was that Trump turned down every proposed date out of spite, using increasingly ridiculous reasons such as that he wanted to play golf then. It took them two months and many arguments to finally find a date they were all okay with.

  
Bill's girlfriend had suggested to cook for all of them, and Trump was the only one who had something against it, so that was set too. Hillary didn't exactly look forward to spending the evening in a small flat with shitty food, but at least that meant she could go whenever she wanted, and she wouldn't have to remember this incident every time she ate dinner at her's or Trump's.

  
Hillary knew that this evening would be a catastrophe before it even started. She didn't trust Trump to behave like he said he would, in fact, she didn't even trust herself to behave. The only person she trusted to behave that evening was Bill's girlfriend, who surely had a name, which Bill had surely mentioned before, but which Hillary had forgotten again immediately.

  
So the evening came, and Hillary was nervous. She and Bill showed up punctual at 6 PM and Bill rang the doorbell (Hillary wondered if he had a key and was just too polite to use it in this situation). After a few seconds, a young, beautiful woman with long brown hair opened the door. She wore a black dress which looked pretty expensive, so Hillary guessed that Bill was the one who had bought it.

  
Hillary felt a bit strange when she shook her hand, but the woman had a nice smile and seemed friendly, so that was at least something.

  
"Good evening. I'm Emma Meyer, nice to meet you."

  
Hillary forced herself to smile too. "Nice to meet you too. I'm Hillary Clinton, but I bet you knew that already."

  
Emma laughed. "Yes, indeed. So, why don't you two come in?"

  
It wasn't like Hillary really had a choice now that she was here already, so she followed Bill inside of the house. It had a bright and friendly atmosphere, but still it was obvious that it wasn't exactly new anymore. Hillary tried not to look down on Emma for living in this house, at least she was just a college student who earned her money fucking strangers. Although she didn't understand why Bill hadn't bought her a new house, but that was okay, she didn't have to understand everything.

  
Emma's flat was in the third floor, which obviously sucked because of stairs, but it was bigger than Hillary had expected. Hillary had expected the worst. It wasn't the worst. It was close to the worst.

  
The hallway made her feel claustrophobic, but the kitchen turned out to be okay.

  
"Where's Mister Trump?" Emma asked as soon as they were there. Hillary found it fascinating that she called him Mister Trump, and not just Trump like all the rest. It sounded strange.

  
"Late." Bill answered, sounding slightly annoyed. Hillary felt the need to defend him, at least it was her boyfriend and her idea to bring him, but Bill was right, so she kept silent. Yes, Trump was late, and Hillary wasn't surprised at all. There were various reasons why he could be late, and they could all be summed up with the fact he didn't give a shit about being on time.

  
"I sure hope the dinner won't get cold." Emma said, and oh boy, if this really was her biggest worry, then she had no idea of what was to come. Innocent little thing...

  
The doorbell rang and Emma left the room to open.

  
Hillary tried to ignore Bill's warning look and instead concentrated on hearing what Emma and Trump were talking downstairs.

  
"Hi." That was Trump. "So, I guess you're Bill's girlfriend." Hillary was surprised by his politeness.

  
"Yes." That was Emma. "I'm Emma Meyer, nice to meet you."

  
"I'm Donald Trump, nice to meet you too. Are Bill and Hillary there already?"

  
"Yes, they're upstairs. Follow me."

  
A minute or so in which only their steps could be heard later and they were there. Trump wore an expensive suit as always and a _Fuck_ _Trump_ hat as had been Hillary's condition.

  
"Hey Bill." Trump said and offered him his hand, which Bill didn't shake.

  
Instead of welcoming the guest, he just said: "You're late."

  
Trump dropped his hand but kept his smile, and remained calm, which was almost a miracle. "Well, it was a stressful day at work. I'm sure you of all people should know exactly how it is."

  
"Oh, no." Bill answered, and Hillary couldn't tell whether he was annoyed or amused. "I was the president, not a golf player."

  
Hillary would find this a lot funnier if she wasn't worried about Trump punching him in the face. But Trump laughed. Hillary didn't know if she should just be relieved or worried about his mental state. But she was always worried about his mental state anyway.

  
"Good one." Trump said.

  
Bill opened his mouth to say something, probably that it hadn't been a joke, but he closed it again and remained silent instead.

  
"Nice hat, by the way." Emma said.

  
Trump smiled. "Thanks." He said. "I just hope all the hot chicks out there get the message." Trump laughed. No one else laughed. A sharp look from Hillary silenced him. "That was a joke." Trump said. "I wouldn't have sex with anyone but..." He looked at Hillary and noticed she still looked like she wanted to kill him. Trump stopped talking. "Okay, I get it. No more jokes."

  
Emma was the one to break the awkward silence that followed. "Dinner's getting cold."

  
"Right." They all started moving again, sat down at the table, Trump and Hillary on one side and Bill and Emma on the other. The dinner consisted of ordinary lasagna, but none of them commented on it, they just started eating and the awkward silence came back.

  
"So, Emma, why don't you tell us a little bit about yourself?" Trump asked. "Like, what do you do for a living?"

  
Bill and Emma looked at each other for a moment, then Emma answered. "I don't really have a job. I study psychology in college."

  
Hillary nodded and tried to change the subject, because she knew exactly what Trump was trying to do here. "Sounds interesting."

  
"Yes, it's..."

  
Trump interrupted her. Hillary shouldn't be surprised. She was. She had thought she had saved the situation already. "Sorry, I don't mean to be rude. I'm just wondering... Because Hillary told me you and Bill met through your job, but now you're saying you don't have a job, so... I'm just a little confused. Sorry for interrupting you."

  
The worst thing was that Trump wasn't doing any of the things Hillary made him promise not to do. He wasn't rude. Actually, he was quite polite. But he was manipulating the situation. He wasn't obvious about it. If Hillary didn't know him, she could've thought that he was really just confused and curious. But she did know him, and she wasn't stupid. And Bill and Emma also knew him, and they weren't stupid either. They both probably knew damn well what Trump was doing. But calling him out on his bullshit wouldn't be considered polite, and then they'd also have to admit they were embarrassed about it. So they didn't really have a chance. Yes, Trump did a good job manipulating the situation. And Hillary didn't know how to stop him. Because then she'd have to admit Trump was manipulating the situation, and she was kind of responsible for him, as she had asked to bring him. Because he was her boyfriend. Why was he even still her boyfriend?

  
"Yes, we met through my former job." Emma finally said after a long while of hesitation.

  
"Oh, now I'm interested." Trump said, pretending not to see the angry looks he got from Hillary. "How would the former president meet a... Well, not to insult you, but you seem like a pretty ordinary girl. Are you in any way involved in politics?"

  
Bill, whose face was quite red by now, mumbled something that sounded a bit like _chessboard_.

  
"Pardon me?"

  
Bill cleared his throat. "She was an escort." He said, not looking up from his plate. Hillary tried to remain serious, but she couldn't deny that this was pretty amusing.

  
Trump nodded. "Interesting job." He said. "How many people have you been with?"

  
Emma choked on her lasagna. Bill dropped his knife. Hillary kicked Trump under the table.

  
"I'm sorry, was that inappropriate?" Trump asked, as if he didn't damn well knew how inappropriate it was. But he still managed to seem innocent. "I'm just curious. Okay, let's change the subject." And then, in the most sarcastic tone he could manage, he asked: "So, what do you do for a living, Bill?"

  
To Hillary's surprise, Bill actually went with it. In the same sarcastic tone, he answered: "Oh, you would be surprised. I'm actually deeply involved in politics."

  
Trump nodded, as if he was interested in what Bill said. "What a funny coincidence. I'm also involved in politics. In fact, I'm the President of the United States."

  
Bill clearly wanted to answer, but Emma was faster. "One-hundred and twenty." She said.

  
"Excuse me, what?"

  
"One-hundred and twenty. I've been with around one-hundred and twenty people, I believe."

  
This time, it was Bill who choked on his food. Hillary tried to hold back a laugh.

  
"I didn't have sex with all of them, of course." Emma added quickly.

  
Trump saw his chance to embarrass Bill further and took it. "Why did you stop being an escort?"

  
Emma handled it pretty well. "I didn't need the money anymore."

  
"Because Bill gave you money?"

  
"Yes."

  
"Yeah, he's a true gentleman, right? Pays his girlfriend so that she stops sleeping with other men."

  
A long silence followed this sentence. Nobody knew what to say.

  
"Who would've guessed that Bill doesn't like it when someone close to him has sex with someone else?"

  
Bill clearly had enough at this point. "If this is about me hacking Hillary's phone..."

  
Emma interrupted him. "You did _what_?"

  
"Yeah." Hillary said. "He hacked my phone because I refused to tell him who I was having sex with."

  
Emma looked from Hillary to Bill and back to Hillary again.

  
"I was only worried about her." Bill defended himself. "I wanted to check if the person she was having sex with was dangerous. And it was obviously justified, because, voilà, she was having sex with Trump."

  
"Why would you think that Hillary was having sex with someone dangerous?" Emma asked.

  
"She had a bite mark." Bill said.

  
Trump frowned, irritated. "Who doesn't bite during sex?" He asked.

  
"Oh, Bill is a very gentle lover." Hillary explained. "And with gentle I mean boring."

  
"I don't think he's boring." Emma said.

  
"People who bite their partner during sex are dangerous." Bill said.

  
"Or you could just not hack into other people's phones." Hillary said.

  
"Unless you're an abusive control freak, of course." Trump added.

  
"I was just worried!"

  
"No, you weren't worried, you just didn't trust my judgement."

  
"I wonder why... Maybe because she's a woman?"

  
"I'm not sexist!"

  
That was the moment Emma decided to stop them. "Okay, how about we change the subject?" Hillary had obviously been right to only trust her to behave.

  
"That's a good idea." Trump said. "Let's just ignore that Bill is an abusive control freak who spies on his wife because he's sexist. What's more interesting is that Bill has sex with hookers."

  
"Escorts!" Bill said.

  
"It doesn't even matter." Hillary said. "Bill can have sex with whomever he wants. He just can't control with whom I have sex!"

  
"I never tried to control with whom you have sex, I just wanted to make sure that it's no one dangerous."

  
"And why do you think I would have sex with someone dangerous?"

  
"Well, you do, don't you?"

  
"I'm not dangerous!"

  
"You're a racist, sexist moron!"

  
"As if you could judge me."

  
"What is that supposed to mean? Did you just call me sexist and racist?"

  
"Apparently."

  
"Okay, boys, calm down!"

  
Bill and Trump looked like they were about to start a fight, Emma looked worried and Hillary didn't know whether she should be angry or amused.

  
"How about we don't talk about Bill and Hillary's personal drama or the fact that I was an escort?" Emma suggested.

  
"Then what do we talk about?" Bill asked.

  
"Oh, I know." Trump said. "Politics."

  
"No!" Hillary said.

  
"Maybe we could talk about something we all agree on?" Emma asked.

  
"There is nothing we all agree on." Bill said. He sounded resignated.

  
"Maybe we should not talk at all." Hillary said.

  
And so they did.


End file.
